[b]UserName:[/b] Asura
[b]Character Name:[/b] Warwick Blight
[b]Age:[/b] 20
[b]Mageblood Type:[/b] Obiligatio
[b]Favored Magic Class:[/b] Demonomancy
[b]Previous Magic Training:[/b] No official training, although he's experimented enough to know the very basics
[b]Race:[/b] Human Carsaeus (Werewolf)
[b]Appearance:[/b]
Warwick is a rather imposing male, standing at just over six feet in height and weighing in at roughly two hundred pounds. His physique is one of power, one expected of a predator. Every inch of his body is plated in lean, chiseled muscle giving him the strength and speed one would expect of a feral beast. Covering his muscular body is a layer of fair white skin marked with a variety of scars and marks to define it's owners reckless life style. While appearing more human than many of his kin, it is very obvious to the common bystander that Warwick is far from human. This face is one of the more noticeable indicators of this. While they're quite 'rugged' and what many would call 'handsome', the inhumanity in them is obvious. His face is angular and sharp. Predatory in nature and dangerous in design. His teeth are unlike any human's, entirely pointed and suited to ripping meat from prey rather than grinding food down normally. 

His eyes are a sharp, piercing yellow color and seem to glower on their own with an unsettling energy akin to that of the Inferno. His ears, while in the place one would expect human ears, are pointed much like those of an elf and covered in a thin layer of fuzz. His hair seems to be a cross between the long locks one would find on a human's head and the thick fur one would find on a wolf. It's soft and warm, yet wild and untamed and kept in a shaggy mop that only adds to his disheveled appearance. 
More features become apparently as you move down his body. Patches of 'fur' like those found on his ears and fairly common along his form, particularly around his limbs. His appendages are just another indication of his heritage. Unlike human fingers or toes, each of them ends in a sharp hooked claw rather than a rounded nail confined to the top portion of the digit. His palms are calloused in a manner that also seems to resemble the 'pads' found on a dog or its more wild siblings, allowing him superior grip. The last obvious indication lies along his back. Particularly, the tail that hangs from his back at the point where his spine fuses into his sacrum. It's rather thick and covered in a form of hair similar to that on his head. 

[b]Short Bio:[/b] To truly understand Warwick's story, you must first understand who his parents were. His mother, a kind young woman by the name of Marianna descended from a poor family. For all her life, she grew within a healthily sized village within Eania's countryside as the daughter of a shepherd. Living outside the feeble walls of her village and assisting her family in raising their livestock, as one of the only children of her parents to have made it past childhood, Marianna exposed herself to a variety of dangers. One of those dangers just so happened to be the one to conceive Warwick with her. Attacks on their cows from creatures of prey were not an uncommon occurrence. Many predators would wander onto their farm looking for an easy meal and occasionally make off with one of their cows or sheep. What was uncommon, however, was a string of these attacks night after night. Such an event plagued their farm one balmy summer.

Her father, an aging man at that point, did what he could with the little help he could afford to patch up their fences and ensure nothing could get into the farm. But nothing he could do truly stopped the beast, who returned every night and tore apart animal after animal. With their village having no true militia to call for help with such a terrifying turn of events and their coffers running low on coin to replace the animals with, Marianna took it upon herself as the eldest of their children to try and foolishly put an end to the attacks. Camping out one knight with her father's bow, she intended to wedge an arrow in the beast when it came for her livelihood and return a hero to her assorted siblings. What she found was no mortal beast.

Having lived reasonably close to the border of Djarkel, a land of darkness where foul beasts ran amok, it was a shock the peasants hadn't expected what Marianna found that night. Instead of a mountain lion or some coyote, what descended upon the cows that night was a massive, bipedal creature that smelt of fire and brimstone of thirsted for blood. It stared down upon the peasant girl with curiosity. An emotion which quickly turned to amusement as she drew an arrow from her quiver and shot it uselessly into it's dark fur in an attempt to strike it down. Her fiery attitude impressed the demon, who decided that rather than feeding on her for nourishment, he'd feed another hunger of his. The demon forced himself upon the unsuspecting farm girl before disappearing into the night, leaving her family to discover her in the morning, bloodied and broken.

Recovery from the various traumas inflicted upon her that night was quick, or as quick as being raped by a demon could possibly be. She was always a determined girl, a stalwart one. It was something she could overcome. Indeed, the demon had intended just that. For only the bravest mortal women could undertake the horrors that would befall her in life. Horrors which revealed themselves several months after the event, when a bump formed its way in her belly. A bump that would one day become Warwick. 

Try as they might, her family couldn't convince Marianna to rid herself of the... thing that grew within her. Spawn on a demon or not, she insisted that it was her child and that depriving it of life would be more wrong than birthing a half breed. Nine months after the tragic event Warwick came into the world, kicking and screaming like a bat out of hell, as one would expect of his kind. He was an exceedingly healthy baby, as much as it pained his family to admit. It was certain he would make it through the earliest years of his life. 

For the most part, his early years were the easiest. His family kept him locked away from the world, hoping to avoid the shame and mockery that would come of his existence. From the moment he could walk, talk and even remember he was shunned by those meant to be closest to him. All aside from his mother, whom did her best to nurture and care for him. To shield him from the coldness of the world. But she couldn't be around forever. He would eventually need to forge his own way into the world. His grandfather knew as much. Perhaps in a form of tough love or spite for the little 'beast' that had come of his kin, the old farmer sent Warwick, a mere boy off into town by himself on an errand. His first real glimpse into the world outside of his family's farm was amazing... until the people of town noticed him. They shouted names at him, threw things. The abuse eventually culminated in them chasing him out of town, calling him a monster and nearly doing worse than simply shooing him off. It was a prelude of things to come. 

All throughout his childhood he was subject to it all. The bullying, the harsh whispers behind his back, the cold glares from all those around him. He was shunned for what he was, for something he had no control over. The fear and prejudice caused the fine folk of his village to torment the poor wolf as he developed. For all the damage it did though, it hardened him. For every wound they caused he grew stronger for it, colder, but stronger. But his existence didn't just harm himself. His family were right in hiding him away. They were subject to nearly the same amount of abuse, his mother in particular. Called a whore for birthing a demon, a heretic and even a demonmancer. As much as she tried to protect him from the world, he could see the barrage wearing down upon the one person who had been there for him through it all. 
So, rather than continue to bring his own parent and the others of his kin down, he decided to run away. No matter where he went, he'd always be the target of some form of mockery. But maybe if he left to be on his own, he could take some of the suffering away from them. A boy, no more than thirteen years old at the time, Warwick scribbled a note with what little knowledge of writing he had been given and made off into the night with nothing more than a knapsack at his side.

 As hard as the journey was, he trekked on, day after day, town after town. Surviving was difficult but for once in his life, his demonic heritage came in handy. He was fast and strong. His senses keen. He could survive out in the wilderness where a softer lad could not. It was three long years of this, sticking to the woodlands and escaping into towns now and again to stir up some trouble and grab some supplies before the populace chased him away. He'd often get attacked, the more ignorant assaulting him and forcing him to fight back. He mauled many a man during his occasional town visits, forced to run before the authorities were called in and inevitably blamed him for the altercations. 

A miserable existence it was, but he managed. Day after day he survived, alone in the world and wandering aimlessly for a place of acceptance. Something, much to his surprise, he would soon find. He had heard stories of his kind, half demons, or werewolves as the common folk tended to label his particular breed, banding together to form groups. Clans of the unwanted who helped each other survive in the world that wanted nothing to do with them. It was by luck alone that one day, Warwick stumbled upon such a group. Or rather, they stumbled upon him. While searching for a place to rest for the night, he had inadvertantly stumbled into the territory of one of these clans. They tracked him, as those of their particular blood tended to do, to the cavern he managed to claim for himself. Had he been a mere mortal, he likely wouldn't have escaped the handful of scraggly looking half breeds that stormed the cave. But he wasn't. He was one of them.

The small clan, consisting only of a dozen or two their breed, happily accepted Warwick into their ranks after a mildly violent run in within the cavern. For the first time, with these other 'monsters', he found peace and acceptance. They helped each other with tasks, looked out for one another and functioned like a little family unit of their own. Like a pack of the animals their corrupted fathers took the form of, they carved out a niche just large enough to live comfortable in the wilds, far from where harm could be done. It was a good time in Warwick's life.

As such, he should've expected it to all come crumbling down. For the deities of the world seemed to have it out for the young wolf. Having lived among the ever growing clan for several long years, Warwick had done well for himself. He had moved up the 'hierearchy' thanks to an unnatural charisma with his fellow half-demons. Made some friends, conquered a few of the clan's women for his own. It was all going well. But the leader of their little 'pack', their 'alpha' had grander plans. Having lived on the fringes of society for so long, having been outcasts all their lives, they had finally grown to the point where they could make a difference. Where they could strike back against those who would oppress them. Consisting of roughly fifty five individuals, their group of mangy mutts had turned into a small army of Carsaeus. Enough to challenge some of the weaker villages that surrounded their home. Despite strong protest, some even from Warwick himself, their leader decided to lead a crusade against the humans who had wronged them all. 

It was the beginning of the end for their clan. Leading ten of his fellow wolves into a farming village much like the one Warwick was born into, they slaughtered the unsuspecting inhabitants in the night and took the backwater town for their own. Livestock to feed them, houses to shelter them and a healthy dose of revenge against people who had never done them any wrong empowered the wolves of their clan. With numbers on their side, the humans could do little to stop them. In a land of holy crusades, hubris was the last thing those tainted by demon blood needed. Unbeknownst to the foolish wolves, not every man, woman and child in that village had fallen to their warriors. Some had managed to escape in the night while the werewolves snorted and celebrated their victory. They sent word to the other villages and soon, their find homeland responded with the force one would expect at such a grievous infestation.

Soldiers, hardened of battle and possessing powerful magics assailed the village one day. The arrogance of the wolves leader prevented him from calling a retreat. Instead of running for the hills as they should have, many of Warwick's comrades made a stand against the troops that came marching to retake the village. They were slaughtered like the animals they had always been. One by one, Warwick watched as his 'family' were cut down by blessed swords and holy silver. He himself had been attacked by the soldiers in his attempt to flee the losing battle.Cornered by several of Eania's best, it was then that for the first time, Warwick tapped into his mageblood. 

He had always held the ability, an affinity for controlling the more vile creatures of the world. It was perhaps his latent abilities in demonomancy that had helped propel him through the ranks of his clan. But this was the first real use. The first obvious use of his abilities. Cornered like a beast, in fear and rage, sorrow and hatred that came a rift in the very space of their plane. It wasn't a large one, but that day Warwick tore himself a portal to the realm of Inferno in sheer desperation. 
From the rift poured forth imp after imp, minor demons who slipped through the fabric of the tear and scattered through the battlefield, free of control thanks to Warwick's inexperience and allowed passage into the mortal realm. It distracted the soldiers long enough for him to turn tail and rush, self preservation prevailing as he ran into the wilderness once more, shocked, terrified and amazed all at the same time. By the time he had stopped running, he was far from the scene of the terrible massacre. So far he could no longer smell their scents, or hear their cries. He was alone once more. 

Stripped of all he had known, the mourning wolf aimlessly wandered once more, with no where left to go and no where to rest in the fear those soldiers who came to claim his companions would too hunt him. Left an emotional wreak, he had merely one thing to compose himself. One thing to focus on. That godforsaken rift he caused. He knew very little of it, but he was certain what he caused that terrible day was magic. It wasn't entirely unheard of for mages to summon forth demons from what he had heard. Perhaps he was one of them.. no, he had to be one of them. In the tragedy of his loss, he had found something of value in himself. Something that could provide him with a future.

It was near impossible to live within Eania and not hear of the Twilight College, even with his limited contact with civilized people. A place where mages were accepted and trained. If he managed to make it there, he could start anew, in a place where he wouldn't be hated and more importantly, hunted by the natives of his land. So he set forth for it. To the college and to a new life, one he could only hope wouldn't be stripped away again. 

[b]Good Attributes: [/b]

Werewolf Physiology; As a Carsaeus, Warwick has inherited attributes from his father's corrupted blood. His half demon heritage has blessed him with an enhanced set of physical attributes. Of his particularly heightened attributes his strength reigns supreme however, allowing him to keep up with and even overpower the most physically oriented races of the world. He has also inherited many physical features to show his ancestry as well. His teeth are nothing like an average human's, with every single one pointed and naturally crafted to tear meat from bone with his incisors even longer than normal. His fingers and toes also end in hooked claw like nails rather than only covering the top portion of his digits and growing to rounded points. His senses are enhanced to the superhuman as well, with eyes more than capable of seeing in the darkness of night, ears capable of picking up the most minute of sounds and most powerful of all, a sense of smell that dwarfs what more civilized races can dream to have. His regenerative capabilities are also heightened, allowing him to recover from wounds at an increased rate although no where close to instantaneous.

Transformation; In times of great emotional strife or physical danger, Warwick is prone to succumbing to his instincts as a self defense mechanism. Should he ever give in, his physical form morphs to that of a massive bipedal wolf demon roughly eight and a half feet from head to toe and several hundred pounds. In this form, he gains a thick layer of thick black hide, rife with the smell of brimstone and incredibly resilient to damage. Additionally, his physical attributes are further boosted.

Loyal; Perhaps owning to his species, Warwick is an incredibly loyal companion. While his very abrasive behavior can turn away any who wish to call him a friend those who do find a place close in his heart. Having never had anyone look past what he was to get close with him, he cherishes any friends he manages to make and will defend those who earn his trust violently much like an alpha protecting his pack. 

Combat Ready; Having to fend for himself in a world that holds, at best, a disdain for his kind, Warwick was forced to verse himself in the ways of combat to defend himself. Using his bestial features and unnatural physical attributes, he's managed to mold himself into a fearsome warrior who favors unarmed, close quarters combat above all else. While he lacks more traditional technique, he makes up for it with feral unpredictability and tenacity. 

[b]Bad Attributes:[/b]

Werewolf Physiology; As a half demon, Warwick also boasts the weaknesses of his tainted family line. Holy artifacts that would fend off demons also effect him much as they would a full blooded Inferno walker. Like demons, he is also susceptible to demonology spells and while he cannot fully be banished to the Infernal Realm, those who practice that particular school will find him to be manipulable should their skill surpass his own. Additionally, a weakness that belongs to his wolf lineage alone and not to all demons is his vulnerability to silver. While its effect vary widely on how pure the metal is, coming into contact with such a substance can cause him anything from a moderate rash to burns akin to touching a hot iron. 

Transformation; While transforming gives Warwick great strength to defend himself with, it comes at the loss of his humanity. In this form he becomes a feral monster akin to what many would assume of the Inferno, rampaging against [i]all[/i] those he comes into contact with, friend or foe. In such a rampage he'll happily murder his closest companions and either must be physically restrained or worst, killed to put a stop to it prematurely. In this form he is far more susceptible to other demonologists and his weakness to many demon banes grows even stronger. 

Socially Challenged; Warwick's social skills are very lacking. Not only was he an outcast for most of his young life, but being judged and looked down upon by so many people has ruined his outlook on many. He is rude, aggressive and more often than not violent to those around him, partially out of spite and partially to protect himself. It's difficult for him to rely upon others, let alone trust them and he finds himself at odds with many of those he comes into contact with simply because of his behavior, let alone his demonic traits. 

[b]Secret Word:[/b] Rebirth